Sonaak
by ImaginaryVeil
Summary: The Dragon Priests-Dovah Sonaak-are powerful beings. However, ages have passed and there has not been one in the flesh. With the return of Alduin, a new Sonaak will be chosen, and the Dragonborn will have to worry about more than just the dragons.
1. Chapter 1

It is an evil thing.  
The mask has a mind of its own.

I have lost everything to it. My mother, my father, my brother and everyone else that came in contact with it. By the time I had figured out what was wrong, it was too late.

It all started when my brother had the brilliant idea of delving into an Ancient Nordic tomb. He was gone for days, so long that we had sent guards out to find him.  
They didn't come back either.

The sun rose and fell for a month, and there was still no sign of him. By that time, everyone was worried sick, and I loved my brother too much to not care.

I left to the tomb in hopes of finding him. It wasn't too far. West of my home town—Morthal, and north of Markarth. About a two day journey.

Even now, I remember the giant stone steps that lead to the tomb's entrance, and the bodies of our guards adorning them. But what was worse was what I found at the door.

I remember how I fell beside my brother, how the breeze was chilled on my tears, how I felt numb and dizzy and ill.

But what I remember the most is taking the mask from his hands, and the buzzing I felt when I held it.

I hauled my brother all the way back to Morthal. At first sight, Ma ran to me—well, to my brother—and hugged him tightly. Of course, the body went limp, but she dismissed it as fatigue.

Until one of the guards mentioned the stab wound in his shoulder.

She froze. After what seemed like eternity, she finally looked at his face.

And screamed.

She looked up at me, as if I'd have an explanation or an excuse. As if waiting for me to tell her that he was asleep or at least paralysed.

But all she got was a mirror of her sorrow.

And things just got worse.

About a week after I returned, we started losing townspeople. Every night, someone would disappear—without a sound, without a trace—until only few of us remained. For three days nothing happened, and we had come to the conclusion that those who disappeared were pulling our legs, that they were only trying to scare us.

Then we got attacked by Draugr.

By then, I thought it would be a good idea to mention the mask. Ma and Da had no idea what it was, so I took it to Falion.  
He nearly had a heart attack when he saw it, calling to at least twenty different gods from each culture. From that, I knew something was wrong.

"Get it away from me!" he shouted. I asked him what was wrong, and he backed away, shaking his head.  
"Otar."

The next morning, Da set out to get rid of it. He was gone all day, and all night, and forever since. Missing him, we had thought we were safe, that it was gone for good. Then I found it on our little prayer table, where our shrine to Mara was supposed to be.  
Just by Ma's bedroom.

I called her straight away.

After hours of persuasion and a bribe of 2000 Septims, Falion finally agreed to help. Looking back, I feel that we were very dependent on him—but then again, there was no-one else who knew of these things besides him and perhaps the scholars at the College of Winterhold.  
One mention of them (and a rather large coin purse) and he was out the door.

He didn't say much, but he said enough. He asked over and over if I knew what happened to my brother, and I told him—over and over—that I didn't.

Ma suggested that we try on the mask—and got an immediate no from Falion.

That didn't stop her.

As soon as he left, she put it on. For a few moments, nothing happened, and I was almost convinced that it was just a relic—some ancient artifact that had no true significance.  
Then she started to laugh.  
Really loud.

And collapsed.

I tore the mask away from her, and not long after, Falion was with us again. He shook his head, muttering a couple of "I told you so"s and tending to her

I stayed by her bed all night, afraid of losing her as well. But she was already lost.

I woke up to a bang.

"Where is it?!" she shrieked.

My eyes were wide open and my arms felt weak; the effects of being woken so rashly.  
"Huh?" I muttered.

"The mask! Where did you put it?!" she looked pale and frantic. I rose to her side, trying to calm her down, to tell her what happened the night before.  
She slapped me.

"Tell me where it is, Ronae, or so help you Shor…"

My lips were trembling. "Ma, please…I think you should lay dow—"

She hit me again.

"I am your mother and you will do as I say. Bring it to me. Bring me Otar. Now."  
She saw I wasn't going anywhere, and that made things worse.

She lashed out at me. Not figuratively, but literally—like a Hargraven. She scratched me, once on my cheek and another on my shoulder.

To this day, my scars still hurt.

She kept hitting me, and rammed me into the cupboard. The impact must have been loud, because the last thing I saw was a group of guards rushing into the room.  
That was before the blackness.

I woke up to see the face of a man that had become recently familiar.

"I tried to warn you." He said. My head was throbbing, and my new marks burned. He explained that what Ma did was out of a crave for power, a side-affect that she was going mad. But the way he said it…

"She was going mad."

Was.

"Falion…where's my mother?" Hiding the tears that threatened to choke me, I watched him look away.  
I knew the answer.

He took the mask for 'safekeeping', though I knew well enough that in order to keep Morthal safe, I had to make sure that not even Oblivion was at arm's length.  
I was the one who brought it there. I would be the one to take it away.

I committed my first crime that night. Not that anyone noticed.  
Its power thrummed in my hand.

Cautiously, I past the lumber mill, and travelled along unnoticed. It was only a few minutes until I stopped. My arms were numb. It wasn't that the mask was heavy, but its power was weighing me down.

With hope, I kept moving, only to stop moments later.  
I realised that there was only one way to travel with it. With a gulp, and a memory of my mother, I put the mask on.

I have no I idea what happened after that, because the next thing I know, I'm in the middle of The Rift.

_**Hello all!  
I understand that the mysterious mask sounds a bit like The Mask (movie), but as soon as I watched it, I just had to put two and two together. Also, this is my first Elder Scrolls FanFic, so any feedback is welcome. Thanks,  
IV.**_


	2. Chapter 2

I would tell you that everything got better after that, but then I'd be lying,

I spent three weeks alone in the wilderness, living only on fish and plants. I kept away from Riften and Shor's Stone, away from people as much as I could, as much as it was possible.  
Of course, that made me very ill, and my addiction just made it worse.  
The Mask…I had grown to fear that it had been crafted by Sheogorath himself_. Madness…_

I had started talking to myself. A lot. But then again, who else is there to talk to when you've shut yourself off from the world?

I travelled by the moons; the halves, fulls and news of Secunda. I don't know why. Although, it did help me keep track of the days.  
Slowly, I made my way across The Rift. I would have avoided a lot of trouble if I had travelled by the roads, but I had grown too used to solitude, and whenever I'd take the Mask off, I'd be in the middle of a forest or cave—or even a river one time—anyway. And since my only weapon was an iron sword, I regularly found myself running away from Sabres or Bears—or anything at least half my size.

I thought I was doing well on my own, but the problem was, I wasn't alone. By the end of the second week, I had the strangest feeling I was being watched, being followed. And was I?  
Well…

I woke up one morning with my pack emptied and my sword in a puddle of water. Not exactly what I needed; my sword hadn't seen a grindstone for Gods know how long, and rust had begun to eat at the edges. My pack also had my last healing potion and a whole bunch of plants I'd been collecting. Not that I'm any good at alchemy, but I'd use them from time-to-time.

And the Mask? Well, I'll get to that.

I was eating flowers for the next couple of days. Not exactly every Nord's dream, but it was better than the grass. In its own way.

My sword had become practically useless. I swung it at a Skeever and it snapped in two. I had no food, no potions, no weapons and no support. By the fourth day I disregarded my stalker; I had convinced myself that I was alone, that it would be ok to let my guard down. Ha!

Three days later I was knocked on the head by something hard.  
I woke up in a camp on some mountain in The Rift. My head was ringing, and all I saw in the night was the campfire and a man in a sleeping roll across me. I fell asleep instantly.

The next time I woke up, however, it was broad daylight, and I had a bowl of potato soup laid by my head.

I lifted myself warily, looking around for the figure I saw last night.

"Sleep well?" I looked to my right and saw a man sitting on a chair not far from me. He smiled. "You had quite a fall."

_Fall?_ I reached for the back of my head. A sharp pain stung me at the touch.

"Easy there." He said, moving towards me. He opened his hand, a warm golden light materialising in his palm. "Just lay still." Not long after, the spell enveloped me, and in an instant the pain had disappeared.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He held a hand out, and I took it cautious. It took about ten seconds for me to realise he was in Stormcloak armour.

I smiled. My father was a Stormcloak soldier. The smile faded.  
_Was_.

I spent the day with this man—Valmir. It wasn't too bad. I mean, he was the first person I had seen in weeks; it was a pressure relief.

He was a bit strange for a Nord, though. He wore the Armour well, but I don't think he did it wholeheartedly. That and he was twice as tall as me.

He explained to me that he had been sent there to retrieve an artefact, something crafted by our ancestors long ago. What it was, I had no idea—he'd change the topic whenever I'd ask. But there was only so much time…

The next morning, he asked if I could help seek out the artefact. Without thought, I agreed. It would have made my father proud to aid the Stormcloaks.

I just wish I had better judge of character.

We spent hours discussing the temple Forelhost not far from our camp. He showed me sword techniques and ways to sneak past any possible danger, preparing me for inside.  
He made it sound so easy.

By about midday he led me to the door. He explained the interior of the structure one last time, and gave me a new sword and pack.

I studied the door as he searched for the keys. It had an elaborate design, one that could only have been crafted by an Ancient Nord.  
A sense of pride ran through me.

"Ah!" he said. "Here it is!"

I turned around not only to see the keys in his hand, but a note with the stamp of the Dominion fall out of his pocket.

I frowned.  
"What's that?" I asked.

He swiftly picked it up and pushed past me to the door.

"Nothing you should be concerned of."

I shook my head. It didn't really matter to me.  
The door creaked as he pushed it open, giving view to an eerie, abandoned barrow.

"You're on your own from here, friend." He said, clapping my back. "Be careful in there."

I looked at him one last time and nodded. He closed the door as I entered.

_-o808o-_

The place is a damn labyrinth.

I took Valmir's advice and went through it slowly, but most of the quarters were ruined and empty, I had met a dead end twice and gotten lost a thousand times more.

It saddened me to walk through the corridors. I couldn't help but wonder how beautiful the place must have been before it decayed.

I entered a room with beds. It was…nerving. Some of them still had bodies on them, stripped to the bone. One of the beds had poison vials on the posts. I walked over and examined one.

Empty.

I looked at the poor skeleton that lay before me.

Although I felt a pang of guilt, I couldn't help but laugh; mother had always warned me not to sleep in.

But now, she too was asleep, resting for eternity.  
I couldn't see her if I wanted to.

I pressed on.

Forelhost was too empty. Valmir had briefly mentioned some…Dragon Cultists, Draugr.  
There weren't any. Or so I thought.

Eventually, I reached another room. This one was different; it seemed to be some sort of refectory. A large table was in the centre, two alembics placed just past the middle of it. On the long side of the table was either a throne or an elaborate chair, I wasn't too sure, but on it was a lady, an Ancient Nordic Sword through her chest.  
On her lap was a note:

_Froda, do not deter the other alchemists from their work. Your views are known to me and we shall have words about them shortly._

_-Rahgot_

I folded the note up again and put it on her arm-rest. Poor Froda. Killed for her opinion. But then again, I didn't know what it was.

Sighing, I studied her armour. Torn and decayed from years of being unused (or from Rahgot?), it still retained its beauty. I looked around. There were other dead bodies. Their armours were fairly similar, changed only size and perhaps style. I moved to another body.  
It was beautiful.

I hadn't seen an Ancient Nordic item since Otar had been stolen.

My fingers ran along the armour—from the shoulder-pads to the gauntlets. I traced the tips of the fingers with my own. Not many armour types were crafted with such detail.

I suppose I had gotten too infatuated with it—the hand closed around my wrist. At first, I had thought that I bent it myself…before the eyes opened.

Forgetting all the sword techniques I was taught earlier, I yanked my hand back and screamed.

It wasn't the only Draugr sleeping.

I have no idea in which direction I ran, but I had never been so afraid in my life. I passed many rooms and chambers, some I had seen more than twice.

I barged in through a large wooden door and shut it behind me. I fell against it, listening for footsteps or unsheathed swords. I heard some, faint and distant, but they disappeared quickly. I sighed in relief.

Behind me, a Claw Door opened, scraping the floor as it did. I turned around, and saw something I never expected to see.

A Dragon Priest.  
Behind him a group of Draugr, and in his hand Otar.

They didn't look happy to see me.

_Stendarr preserve me…_

_**I am so sorry for the long wait.  
Between life and problems with my account, it's taken me ages to get this up. Also, school's back, but I promise I won't abandon this Fic.  
Feel free to review or leave a comment.**_

_**IV**_


End file.
